Giggles echo across a moonlit lake
that sparkles in answer to fireflies’ signals
to mates on the water’s banks.
Inside out t-shirts, crumpled shorts
and quieted flip-flops create rumpled piles
beneath the sweet-scented mimosa.
The children revel in the freedom of their nakedness,
as they waft in waves still warm from the day’s sun.
A bob, a dart, a kick, then –
a sliver of white moon splashes,
rises to the surface -- bottoms up.
“I see your heinie!” one calls to a chorus of cricket-teehees.
The air cools and the group quickly streaks
to the pump house to dress.
Silently they slip into the summer house
where adults, drunk on rum and Coke,
masked by a cloud of cigarette smoke and sexual innuendo,
sit unaware of the midnight adventure
shared by their offspring.